Sirens
by xoShane22ox
Summary: Alaina Yearwood and Shane Walsh meet when Alaina is stranded on the side of a back road one night with a flat tire. Will Alaina and Shane cross paths again? If so, how will Alaina's not-so-gentle boyfriend react? Rick still gets shot but the rest is noncannon & AU - no Shane/Lori. I'm not good at summaries but I've been writing for about a decade so the story is better, I promise.
1. Chapter 1

I hate driving alone at night, especially down creepy back roads. I really wish they would just finish the construction on the main highway already so it wouldn't be shut down at night. I don't get a cell signal out here and I just know one day I'm going to end up stranded out here.

 _ **THUD**_

Seriously? Of course I would jinx myself. I pull off onto the side of the road and curse under my breath. I grab the flashlight that I keep in the console and slowly open my door. I look all around me, and thankfully, there doesn't seem to be any danger. The ground is still muddy from all the rain we had yesterday, and I cringe as I feel the cold, wet goo cover my toes. What a great day to be wearing sandals. I shine the light on my front tire and see exactly what I expected to find - a flat. But it appears that this didn't occur just from running over a screw or something; the sidewall of the tire was completely blown. Which also means I have to come up with the money for a new tire. Perfect. Never in my life have I changed a tire, but I already know that I'm not about to sit here and wait for some serial killer to murder me, so I slosh through the mud around to my trunk. I can barely lift the piece of wood that lays over my spare tire and tools, but finally I manage to wiggle out the jack. From what I understand, this thing is also supposed to get the bolt-things-that-keep-the-tire-on off. I guess I'm supposed to lift the car up first, though.

I try a few times to put the jack where it goes and twist the handle-thing to lift the car up, but I can't seem to figure out what I'm doing. I groan and flop down onto the ground, cringing when I land in a puddle of mud. There goes one of my favorite pairs of shorts. When I look up, I see headlights approaching me and my pulse quickens. This could either be someone that wants to help me, or someone that wants to kill me, and with the luck I've had lately it's probably the latter. I stand and attempt to wipe some of the mud and then pick up the handle-thing just in case I need a weapon. I guess I can bash them in the head with it, or something. As the car comes closer the lights get brighter, and then more lights turn on - flashing blue and red lights. The car is that of a King County Sheriff's Deputy. I guess I won't die tonight, at least. The officer cuts the engine and gets out of the car, walking over to me slowly, an eyebrow raised.

"Need some help, ma'am?"

He's got dark, somewhat curly hair and a deep southern drawl. He's considerably taller than me, though I'm only about 5'4", and fills out his uniform quite nicely. I try to shake the thought from my head as my nose scrunches up.

"Flat tire and no cell reception," I shrug.

"And an acquaintance with the mud," he smirks.

"Um, yeah," is all I can think to say back.

"Got quite the death grip on that tire iron," he chuckles.

I had forgotten that it was still in my hand, and I unintentionally was gripping it so tightly that my knuckles had turned white. I can feel my face turning red.

"Lemme see," he holds his hand out as he walks closer.

I hand it to him and he walks past me. He cranks the jack and makes sure it's secure before he turns back to me.

"Spare?" Is all he says.

"It's in the trunk," I nod. "I, uh, couldn't get it out."

As the words come out of my mouth, I can't help but feel small and inadequate - the opposite of how I usually feel in everyday life.

"Right," he nods with another smirk.

I can't tell if he's being condescending or just making a general statement. When he walks around to my trunk, the headlights from his car reflects onto his already-tanned skin and makes his dark eyes seem silkier.

"This ain't gonna work," he says when he pulls the tire out. "It's practically as flat as that one."

I can feel myself blush again. Jackson had told me that he had taken care of that the last time that I'd had a flat. Apparently, he didn't.

"I had a flat a few months ago," I nod. "That was sposed to be taken care of. Guess not."

"I could call someone," he says simply. "But it'll take a while. There's a station up ahead a little ways. I can go put some air in this to get you home."

He doesn't wait for my response, he just takes it and throws it in the back of the squad car.

"Come on," he waves me over. "Don't feel right leaving you here by yourself."

"Thanks," I say quietly, sliding in past the passenger door that he's holding open for me.

"Shane Walsh," he holds his hand out once he's back in the driver's seat.

"Alaina Yearwood," I extend my hand to meet his.

I'm expecting his hand to crush mine, but he's surprisingly gentle.

"Got a middle name?" He asks casually.

"Grace," I manage to say.

My heart hasn't stopped pounding since he touched me.

"Alaina Grace," he repeats. "Well, Alaina Grace, what is it that you're doin out here this late all by yourself anyway?"

I see his eyes glance over my body quickly before he places his eyes back on the road. I casually look down at my clothes and feel more heat come over my body. Rehearsal ran late tonight and I have an early class tomorrow, so when we got done I just threw on a pair of shorts over my leotard. I've done this many times before, except this particular rehearsal was a dress rehearsal, meaning this leotard is the one for our performance - our hip hop performance to be exact. When we picked it out, everyone wanted it to look like something that would be in a music video, so they chose a leotard that was made to look like leather and that had a zipper down the front. The zipper rests at our sternum and there is a built-in lacy push up bra that sticks out of the v-neck of the leotard. All of the other girls decided on the push up bra because they wanted to enhance the little that they have. I, on the other hand, don't want to enhance what I already have - yet here I am, stuck with the push-up-bra-leotard and daisy duke combination riding with an officer who probably thinks I'm a hooker.

"I was at a rehearsal," I answer. "A dance rehearsal."

And now I sound like a stripper.

"A dance rehearsal?" He cuts his eye at me.

"I'm a student at King Community University for Performing Arts," I say quickly. "We have a big recital coming up as our final for the semester. We had a dress rehearsal tonight."

My words run together as I explain this, trying to take the thought of me being a stripper out of his head.

"I'm not a stripper," I blurt out.

So much for subtle.

"Didn't think that you were," he mumbles with a grin. "Idea may have crossed my mind, but I knew you couldn't be."

"Oh," I say quietly.

I am now slightly embarrassed that I drew attention to my attire and that I automatically assumed he would find me attractive enough to think I could be a stripper.

"You just don't seem like the type," he elaborates.

"What exactly is the type?"

"I can just tell, okay," he grins again. "Here we are."

He pulls into the station and leaves the car running and the door open while he fills my spare. He puts it back into the trunk and we head back to my car. It doesn't take him long, once we make it back, to have the bad tire off and the spare on in its place. He places the tools and the bad tire into my trunk and then pulls his wallet out.

"In case you need something," he says, handing me a card with his name and work number on it.

"Thank you," I nod. "For everything."

"My pleasure," he nods again and then heads back to his car.

I dig a sweater out of my bag just in case something else happens while I'm on my way home. Officer Walsh pulls away as I slide it onto my shoulders. Just before I get back into the car, I notice a white rectangle laying in the grass that I didn't notice before. I bend down and pick it up, and when I turn it over, I see that it's his license. It must have fallen out when he gave me his card.

 _Shane Elliot Walsh_

I could just drop it in a nearby mailbox so it can be returned to him, but that feels so impersonal. Taking it to his house seems a bit too creepy, though. I guess tomorrow I can take it down to the precinct before I go to rehearsal. I check the time and see that I am now very late. I hope Jackson is already asleep so I don't have to explain what happened. When I pull into the driveway, all the lights are out in the house, so I creep inside and put my bag away in the hall closet. Just as I tiptoe into the bedroom, the lamp in the living room comes on and I freeze.


	2. Chapter 2

Getting out of bed this morning was hell, but I forced myself to do it anyway. I took a quick shower and then took a few moments to put some loose curls into my hair with my curling wand. I decided to go with a subtle, nude smokey eye with some mascara and liquid eyeliner, being careful not to put it on too thick. I get called Cleopatra anytime that I have show makeup on, and I'd like to avoid drawing that much attention to myself today.

I pull on my favorite pair of skinny jeans - not too tight, not too loose even after wearing them all day - and a medium-gray tank top that's form-fitting but not revealing on. Over it, I pull on a light pink cardigan that always reminds me of one of the shrugs that I used to wear in ballet class. I pull on my favorite pair of silver gladiators and rush out the door. I'm already running late and I desperately need coffee if I'm going to make it through the day. I barely remembered to grab Officer Walsh's license on my way out, but thankfully I grabbed it at the last second. I really don't want Jackson seeing it. I realized that he won't be on duty this morning since he already works a late shift, so I'll just drop it off on my way to work.

The drive to campus seems to take forever. I manage to hit every single red light, not to mention every person that gets in front of me is doing at least 10 under the speed limit. I finally make it to campus and find a parking spot, only to realize that I didn't bring any of my books with me. Terrific. I slide into my seat 5 minutes late, which earns me an annoyed look from Professor Roberts. That's also when I see that our draft for our term paper was due today. I finished it weeks ago, so ordinarily it wouldn't be a problem. Ordinarily, I also bring my books to class. Where is the draft of my term paper? Shoved in my textbook. Even better.

I sit through class, mentally kicking my own ass as I listen to his lecture. At the end, I slowly walk up to his desk, but he doesn't look up at me.

"Yes, Ms. Yearwood?" He asks monotonously.

"I had a really bad night last night," I decide to start with. "Long story short, a police officer had to change my flat tire and I got home late, so I rushed out the door this morning without..."

"By the end of the day," he cuts me off. "I know you finished it weeks ago."

"How do you know?" I ask slowly.

"You turned in all of your other papers 2 weeks early. This one was not allowed to be turned in before the deadline, but old habits die hard. Based upon past behaviors, I formed my opinion of the present."

He always has to phrase things in such a way that gives off the impression that he's so much better than everyone else. Why couldn't he just say "you always finish your work early?" Why is that hard?

"I'll have it in before the end of the day," I decide to end the conversation and walk away.

"Alaina," he calls after me.

"Yes, Professor Roberts?" I turn slowly.

"You might want to pull the sleeve of your sweater down," he looks to my right arm. "And then reconsider your life choices."

I can feel my body turn a deep shade of red as I pull down my sleeve to cover the large bruise that he's referring to. I turn and leave before he can say anything else. The rest of the day drags on slowly and I keep tugging at my sleeves, making sure they're pulled down far enough. I leave my last class a few minutes early so that I have time to go home and turn my paper in and still have time to stop by and drop off Shane's license. I can't decide if I should call him Shane or Officer Walsh. He introduced himself as Shane, but I don't know if he was just trying to make me feel more comfortable with the situation.

As soon as I turn my paper in, I leave campus and head to the station. I can feel my entire body tensing as I get closer. I feel like they'll take one look at me and know my secret. I swallow my nerves as I pull into a parking space and get out of the car. I tug at my sleeves as I walk into the building and up to the front desk.

"Can I help you?" The women sitting there asks, not actually paying me any attention.

"Is Officer Walsh here right now?" I ask cautiously.

"Walsh?" She repeats.

"Shane," I nod my head even though she hasn't looked up from the report she's filling out.

"Sign in there," she points to a clipboard on the ledge.

"Oh, I just need..."

The rest of my sentence is drowned out but the screaming of a criminal that an officer has just brought into the building.

"What the hell are you yellin about?" The officer yells back at him and unceremoniously runs him into the side of the doorway as they go through.

I'm too distracted by the commotion to notice Shane and another guy coming out of what must be a locker room.

"Well, if it isn't 'Laina Grace," he says as a method of announcing himself.

"Hi," is all I say, stupidly.

"What brings you here this fine afternoon?" He leans on the ledge, ignoring the glare from the woman behind the desk.

"I have something of yours," I respond, avoiding his eyes and digging in my bag.

The other man that was with him is standing beside him and suddenly has a massive smirk on his face. The woman behind the desk does not look entertained.

"Got it," I say, finally locating it amongst all the other nonsense that I have in my bag. "You dropped it the other night."

"Where'd you drop it, Walsh?" The guy beside him says. "In her panties?"

I feel my entire body turn a new shade of red that even the largest box of Crayon crayons has never seen. Shane turns abruptly and if looks could kill, the one that he gives this man would render him lifeless instantly.

"Leon, you bastard, get away from me," Shane practically growls.

"I had a flat tire last night," I hear myself saying before I realize. "Shane helped me change it."

The woman behind the desk now looks very amused.

"Take your scrawny ass out to the car, Basset," Shane says, still glaring at him.

"I..." he begins.

"Go!" Shane barks over the top of him.

I wait for him to completely disappear from my line of sight before I look back at Shane.

"I'm sorry," he looks down at me, his brown eyes taking on the puppy dog effect.

"It's not a big deal," I clear my throat. "I've had worse said about me."

"Let me make it up to you," Shane says. "Buy you a drink tonight."

"I can't," I give him a half smile. "I'm actually on my way to work."

"How bout tomorrow night?" He grins.

"I have rehearsal," I nod.

"Are you turning me down, 'Laina Grace?"

"I wish I wasn't," I smile at him. "I have to get to work, or my boss is going to kill me. I really appreciate your help, Officer Walsh."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone that has taken the time to read this story! Each and every view means a lot to me... I just wanted to take a moment and apologize for any typos that you come across while reading. I write on my phone, and my phone has been having issues lately, so sometimes words get changed and I don't catch it. Anyway, I hope you like the new chapter!

* * *

I stare blankly at the page of my textbook, the same page it's been turned to for the last 30 minutes. I've spent those 30 minutes rereading the same sentences over and over. I can't believe Shane was asking me out. He seems really nice, and he's absolutely attractive, but there's Jackson. I close my tired eyes for what feels like 5 seconds when someone slams a book down onto the table.

"What're you doing here?" Jackson asks.

"Studying," I answer simply. "I have finals coming up."

"You can study at home," he closes my book and starts shoving my things into my bag.

"Actually, I can't," I cringe on the inside. "My financial aid wouldn't cover all of my books so I bought the most important ones and for the others I have to use the ones the library has."

"Well, maybe you should have thought about how much money you'd have when you decided to come to this fancy school," he says as he continues packing my things. "We're going home."

I look up and realize that we've actually been talking very loudly and everyone is now staring at us. I blush and look down, closing the books that I borrowed from the library.

"Hey!" A young girl says cheerfully as she walks up to us. "I got those notes photocopied for you."

"Thanks," I say as she hands them to me.

"Hi, I'm Beth," she says to Jackson. "Alaina and I have a class together. She's always saving me when I miss some of the notes in class. I don't know what I'd do without her."

Now that I look at the blonde a little closer, I do recognize her from class. She's one of the few high school students that also takes classes at the college. I look down at the papers she just handed me, and I see that these are notes from her high school English class.

"Oh, and thanks for loaning me this book the other day," she hands me a paperback on the art of ancient cultures. "It really helped."

"Yeah, no problem. Anytime," I force a smile.

I didn't loan her this book and these notes are not really for me. I have no idea what's going on. But then I see her tugging on the her left shirt sleeve, and I look down to find that my bruise is exposed.

"It was nice to meet you," she says to Jackson. "See you tomorrow, Alaina!"

She walks off confidently and I can't help but feel even smaller. How many other people know? I grab my things and Jackson leads me out to the car like I'm a lost puppy. He makes sure I'm in the car with it running before he goes to get into his truck. I take a moment to look inside the book that Beth gave me, and stuck inside is a note written on the back of a takeout menu. All it says is *Don't be afraid to do what is best for you* and has her name and number scrawled on it.

Jackson pulls out of the parking lot in front of me, and I follow behind him for a few blocks before I get caught by a light. I get caught by every light after that, too. I'm sure he's probably home by now and he's going to be pissed that I'm late. Once I hit an open stretch of road, I begin accelerating - 5, 10, then 15 over the speed limit. Just as I hit 20 over, I hear a siren and see flashing lights behind me. I curse as I pull off to the side of the road and put the car into park. I roll my window down and wait for the officer to come over.

"We have to stop meeting like this, 'Laina Grace."

I look over and see Shane leaning against my car.

"License and registration," he raises an eyebrow at me, his voice suddenly taking on a serious tone.

I hand him my license, which I already had ready, but have to reach for the registration in the glove compartment. When I lean over, the console presses into my side, where I have massive bruises underneath my clothes. I wince and cover the spot with my hand automatically before realizing that Shane is staring at me.

"Everything okay?" He asks.

"Yeah," I fake a smile. "Here."

I hand him the piece of paper and he walks back over to his car. After a few minutes, I see him get out and come back over.

"You know how fast you were going?" He mumbles.

"Yes," I nod. "I really need to get home."

"Well, next time, slow down," he winks. "Get outta here."

"That's it?" I ask, alarmed.

"Consider it a warning," he shrugs.

"Can you put that in writing?"

"Can I what?" He squints his eyes in the sunlight, but I'm sure it's in confusion as well.

"Is there like a warning slip you can give me, or something?" I ask again. "I was supposed to be home already, my boyfriend is gonna be mad that I'm late."

He stares at me for a minute, intently, his eyes trying to penetrate my soul. His stare lessens a bit before his eyes wander down my arm and then to my side before meeting my eyes again. My body feels hot and I pull at the sleeve of my sweater.

"Sure," he says coldly.

He scribbles something down on a pad of paper and then hands it to me with my registration document.

"Thank you," I say quietly.

"You still have my card?" He's staring at me again.

"Yeah," I nod slightly.

"If you need something," he pauses and I see his jaw clench, "use it."

He turns and walks away and I take a long, deep breath. I roll my window back up and pull back out onto the road. As soon as I pull into my parking space, I jump out of the car and run upstairs.

"Where the hell have you been?" Jackson asks as soon as I walk in the door.

"I got pulled over," I say, putting my bag down by the front door.

"For what?" He demands.

"Speeding."

"I ain't paying your ticket, dumbass," he says.

"I didn't get one. I only got a warning."

I walk into the kitchen and pull some vegetables out so I can start dinner.

"What, you banging the cop?" He yells, knocking the cutting board out of my hand.

"No," I back away. "He said he would just give me a warning. I have it right here."

I pull the slip of paper out of my pocket and hand it to him. He reads it and then throws it in the floor and spits on it.

"Finish making my dinner, bitch, and then clean up this mess."

He pulls a beer put of the fridge and then plops down onto the couch and flips the TV on.


	4. Chapter 4

"You wanna hear ridiculous!?" I can hear Glenn across the bar, yelling into his phone. "Guy stripped my car down to nothing!"

Oh, Glenn. Always exaggerating. Glenn is the one that runs _KC's_ , the bar I work in. It's owned by Glenn's father-in-law Hershel Greene. I got hired on when they opened the place, because I was the only experienced bar tender in the small town. I had to lie to them about my age, though, because I was only 16 at the time. Since then, they've hired some additional staff members who come and go. That's how I met Jackson. He was new to town and came to interview for a job. Ultimately, he accepted a position as a mechanic at a local garage, but I was the one that helped Glenn interview him. He seemed like a great guy at the time. If only I'd known then what I know now.

"Welcome, Princess," Glenn comments as I walk by him to put my purse in the back room.

"I'm late," I sigh. "I know."

"Rough day?" He asks.

"Very," I answer simply. "News is on."

Glenn is very serious about watching the news every single day. He insists that we all need to stay informed - I guess he thinks there's going to be some kind of zombie apocalypse someday or something.

"We have some good news to bring to you today," the overly chipper news anchor announces. "Officer Rick Grimes, the deputy injured in last month's shootout, is being released from the hospital today. To celebrate the return of one of King County's finest, we have received word that KC's will be giving out free drinks to any member of the King County Sheriff's Department and 2 for 1 drinks to the rest of the county this Friday night."

"You didn't," I groan.

"We have to support our officers," Glenn responds. "And business has been slow. We need to get people in the door."

"Well, I can't..."

"I need everyone on staff," he cuts me off. "I know you have finals soon, but one night of not studying won't kill you."

Maybe he won't come. Maybe he doesn't know Officer Grimes very well. He's very enticing, maybe he'll have a date that night. I come up with every reason that I can think of for why Shane wouldn't come in Friday night. Logically, I know that he'll be here, but I can't stand the idea of him meeting Jackson. He'll know automatically. I'm pretty sure he has a good idea already, but one look at Jackson while he's drinking and it's a dead giveaway.

Glenn's right, though. Business has been slow. So slow that I spend the rest of the night studying in between handing out beers to the regulars. They all try to tell me little jokes, the same ones I hear we after week. Still, I laugh with them. I wonder if they can tell that with every little laugh I give, there's a shooting pain in my ribs that accompanies it. At the end of the night, I take a portion of my tips and stuff them into the mason jar that I decorated and keep in the back room. I've been doing this for a few months now, just in case there's ever an emergency. Jackson doesn't know about it. He'd freak out if he knew.

I gather up the rest of my things and shut the lights out. As I lock up and walk to the car, I find myself daydreaming about what it would be like to date Shane Walsh. He's so muscular and masculine, but I'll bet he's never laid an unwanted hand on a woman. I drive home quickly, wanting to make it home on time. Luckily, I do. I heat up what I had previously prepared for dinner and sit down at the table with my textbooks. I'm going to have to get some extra studying done since I'm working Friday night.

"The hell you think you're doing?" Jackson asks, coming out freshly showered.

"I have to get some extra studying done. I have to work Friday night because of the event that Glenn planned for the recovered officer."

"Good," he says. "You'll be there to get my drinks."

I'm waiting for him to say something else, but he just throws his towel in the hamper and goes into the bedroom. I unintentionally stay up all night reading over my notes and working on the final copy of my term paper. I'm still sitting at the kithen table when he wakes up the next morning.

"Where's my breakfast bitch?" He grumbles.

"Oh," I look at the clock. "I didn't realize the time. I'll get started on it right now."

"Forget it," he knocks one of my books off the table. "I'll go out."

"I'll make french toast tomorrow," I try to smooth it over. "And those muffins that you like Saturday morning."

I thought adding the bit about the muffins would help, but apparently I was wrong. He stops in his tracks and turns around, glaring at me. I know the next few seconds will be the calm before the storm. I really don't know what set him off this time. Before I can move, he's flipped the table over on top of me.

As I look in the mirror, getting myself ready for class today, I know that makeup will never cover the bruises on my face. Bruises that, no doubt, will get darker as the day goes on and be a deep shade of black and purple just in time for the event at work tomorrow night. Just in time for every officer in King County to come in and see it.


	5. Chapter 5

"What the hell happened to you?" Glenn asks when I walk into work Friday afternoon.

Just as I predicted, the bruising on my face has gotten a lot deeper, and has spread from just around my eye to my cheekbone and temple, too.

"I don't want to talk about it," I mumble.

He looks over at Jackson, who has made himself at home at the end of the bar, and sighs deeply.

"Why don't you..."

"Please, Glenn, just drop it," I plead.

I place two beers in front of Jackson and then spend the next few hours making sure everything is spotless behind the counter. After everything is stocked, I help the rest of the bartenders with decorating and hanging up the banner thanking the King County Sheriff's Department for their service and the banner welcoming back Officer Grimes.

Before long, the regulars start coming in, looking forward to the 2 for 1 drink special. The first person that I see come in from the Sheriff's Department is Leon Bassett. I duck my head down until he finds a seat at a table in the corner of the room. Luckily, the next officer that comes in sits at the table with Leon and blocks his view of the bar. During the next half hour, several other members of the department come in, but none of them order any drinks. I'm still hoping that Shane won't come, just as the door swings open again. Of course, coming in is none other than Shane Walsh, with a woman following closely behind him. He greets some of the officers and then has everyone quiet down.

"If I could have everyone's attention, please," he announces. "This night is in honor of Officer Rick Grimes. Rick is one of the best we've got, and is hands down the best partner that I could ever ask for. I've been very fortunate to be able to work with Rick for all these years. That man is like my brother. Now, please help me and his wife, Lori, welcome him back. Come on in, Rick!"

Everyone cheers as a man that must be Rick Grimes walks into the bar. One of the officers orders a round of beer for everyone from the department, and naturally I have to help my co-worker Tara bring them out to the tables. I try to avoid Shane's table at all costs, but at the last second Tara gets called over to another table and I'm the only one left serving the officers. Glenn didn't bother to hire on extra people to serve just for tonight. Any other night, one or two bartenders on staff is enough and we don't have to worry about serving anyone, but tonight is chaotic.

Just as I think I've successfully delivered the drinks to Shane's table and gone unnoticed, Glenn's wife and my best friend, Maggie comes in.

"Laine!" She spots me immediately and draws every eye at the table's attention to me.

"Just a sec," I call back, placing the last bottle on the table.

"Well, I'll be damned if it isn't 'Laina Grace," Shane says.

"Officer Walsh," I nod my head in his direction.

It's fairly loud in here, but I still cringe when he says my name, hoping that Jackson doesn't hear.

"What happened to you, girl?" He asks very seriously.

"Laine!" Maggie calls again, sounding more urgent this time.

"Gotta go," I nod in Maggie's direction and hurry away.

"What is wrong with you?" Maggie hisses and pulls me into the backroom forcefully.

"What are you talking about?" I try not to wince as she lets go of my bruised arm.

"Beth told me," she says.

"Beth?" I question. "What're you..."

And that's when I realize. Beth looked familiar not just because I have a class with her. In all the years that Maggie and I have been friends, outside of the family members involved with the bar, I've never actually met her family. I've seen a few pictures before, and now I make the connection that her sister Beth is the one that helped me in the library.

"And now look at you," she shakes her head. "You can't do this, Laine. You are way too smart for this."

"It's nothing," I shake my head back. "Really. I was practicing for the performance and I tripped."

"And bashed your face into something?" She glares at me.

"The barre," I nod.

"That's bullshit," she mutters. "We'll talk about this later. They need you out there."

There's an eerie silence in the bar when I come out of the back. I see Glenn struggling to fix the stereo wires, and for some reason the lack of music has caused everyone to get quiet. Everyone except for the one person that needs to be.

"Hey, bitch," Jackson yells as soon as he sees me.

Every eye in the building is suddenly on me. That includes the deep brown eyes of Shane Walsh, who at this moment, looks like he'd like to get his hands on Jackson.

"I need another round. Why don't you actually make yourself useful, much like you should be doin at home."

At this point, I'm not sure how many drinks he's had, but I know that he is completely out-of-his-mind-drunk.

"I mean shit," he keeps going. "All you do is keep that ugly face of your's stuck in those damn books and whore around at what you call rehearsal. Shit, you must be doin all those guys you dance with. Gotta be. Little slut like you's gotta keep someone between her legs and you sure ain't been gettin on this. Not unless I make you."

Every mouth in the room is hanging open. No one has stepped in to stop him, but then again, I can't blame them. I don't think anyone has even begun to process the scene before them. I can feel the tears stinging the back of my eyes, but with all the people around me, I'll die before I let them fall.

"You've had enough, Jackson," Glenn finally speaks. "Get the hell out of here before I have one of these officers escort you out."

While everyone watches Jackson stumble out, I rush to the bathroom. I lock myself into a stall and suddenly hear the sound of music again. It would have been nice if Glenn could have had that working two minutes ago. Once I've regained my wits, I slowly make my way back out to the bar. I face the wall behind me as I prepare the next round of drinks for one of the tables of officers, but th second I turn back around, I'm staring at Shane.

"I need a round of the best shots you got," he says when I don't say anything.

"Shots of what?" I reply, but my voice sounds hoarse.

"The best you got," he shrugs. "Don't matter. You're the expert. Take the best drink you make and turn it into shots."

"Okay," I raise an eyebrow. "But I hope none of you are driving tonight. Doesn't seem right for officers such as yourselves should be driving home drunk."

"I ain't drunk," he smirks. "So no worries."

"You will be after this round," I smirk back.

He's quiet while I create the concoction that he requested. I put them all on a tray and slide them over to him.

"What's in em?" He asks eyeing them.

"Don't ask," I reply. "And don't smell it. Just throw it back."

"Yes ma'am," he nods his head at me. "Oh, and one more thing."

He waits for me to look him in the eyes before he speaks again.

"You deserve better, 'Laina Grace."


End file.
